


Into the Beat

by ayeah



Category: Hello!Project, Morning Musume
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayeah/pseuds/ayeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words are no longer needed when two can dance. What message are they trying to convey?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Beat

Thump thump thump.

Sneakers screeching against the shiny floor.

Thump.

One jump.

Thump.

Swirl, left arm outward.

Pause.

Eyes peeking through the mess of hair.

Snap.

Staring at the lone reflection.

In such moments, the beat was where all it matters, my heart becoming one with the beat.

Behind the scenes, when no one else is to watch, I watch myself. I fault myself. Every bit of myself. Every joint, every muscle; every twist and flex. For every single beat there is, there is movement. I am responsible for every single bit of it; the rigidity, complexity, the beauty and elegance it possesses. It was the entirety of me, all surrendered to the beat.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump

Counted, measured, yet liberating. There is count to match the beat, but sooner it fades, and I am one with it. It becomes part of me. I was fluid, live, and flowing. The beat becomes life.

The floor screeched beneath where I landed and stopped. I saw my lone partner on the mirror, wide-eyed and flushed, beautiful and alive. I feel pride. This magnificent, raw image is the reflection of my joy, of my passion, stripped of everything I was and _ought_ to be.

Just myself.

A new music had played into the stereo, I don’t need to turn to know why. Apart from my reflection, another figure appeared from the farthest back of the room, walking towards my side in a confident stride. She had her short-brown hair tied into a low-key ponytail, clad in black shirt that swallows her small frame, and loose-fitting pants that ends mid-calf. She must have been joked as poor, but she doesn’t buy cheap for her shoes.

She trusted the measured counts in each step, and thus she was able to transform herself to something else. Her face was the mask of a possessed being, a window to the world the beat alone could never tell. When the music had moaned low, she dipped and swayed her hips along, slowly, her head thrown with it. Her hands crawled upwards, from her hips, across the black shirt, to her neck and cradled her nape as she snapped her head back face front, her eyes sharp and glazed, watching herself.

And when the first beat struck— that one, first, heavy thump resounding within us— we broke into a dance.

This was not a song made for us, nor the steps rehearsed by us, but we made it our own all the same. Our movements had differed from each other, but we had one beat to count, to own, to fall into. Sometimes our eyes meet, and there was that smug smile adorning your lips. Daring, challenging, enjoying. I hope you see mine in return before you could even fall into the next step.

And when the beat gradually slowed down, you took two steps towards me, and I had to look down at you given our height difference. Your ponytail was thrown-off somewhere along the dance, your hair wildly trashed in that pleasant effect. Your eyes were brown, your skin pale and coated with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips slightly parted; beautiful, alive. Your hands reached to touch the top of my head. I was expecting there would be tangles all over, having danced with it untied all this time, but your fingers slid down smoothly through it without a hitch. Then the ghost of your finger on my temple, warm against the cold, sweat-coated skin, down to my cheeks, to my lips…

THUMP.

You threw your hands away along with the half of your body to the side, taking a step back as you turn around. Of course, we’re still dancing. I almost thought you were going to kiss me.

Now your smile was taunting, like telling me you knew what I thought. You do. I ought to show you that I do think what you think I’m thinking.

So I took position on your right, at least two paces behind you. That’s when we fell into the same movement. I had to adjust my own to match yours, but when you realized it, we just sort of became one. This was no dance formation, no battle, but just… dancing together. 

I incorporated into the steps of trying to chase you, in which you easily fall in accordance as trying to get rid of me, if not bursting in laughter at first. I took steps forward and you took steps back, I reach and you sashay on the other side. I hold you and you hold me back teasingly, before sliding away from my arms in a masterful spin. We held each other many times, sometimes you on me, me on you. Generally, our hands had been all over each other. Sometimes our faces would be too close, tempting, _shall I kiss you?_

I was actually grinning the whole time, no longer reflecting the mirror but reflecting you. My lone partner had all but vanished, because my partner was you.

The dance stopped into one heavy drop of a beat, my arms outstretched and holding your arm, you looking back at me. You were panting, as much as I was, and you broke into this huge grin and began laughing. You broke away from my arm, just laughing.

But an outro had begun and you didn’t know, so for awhile you gaped at the smirk on my face. I stood behind you and watched our reflections together in the mirror. You answered parallel to my moves, swayed and drew our hands in our air. The beat had faded with me wrapping my arms around you and sinking my head into the crook of your neck. You didn't resist, but just eased back to me. The beat had left, and there was no movement left to play.

“I’m going to miss you.”


End file.
